The Spider Bike

So I was up at my sister's house this past weekend, and noticed that they had brought my old spider bike up from the old homestead. I'm guessing that my brother-in-law will fix it up for my nephews' enjoyment. The paint is faded, the chrome is blistering off, and the tires are decayed. But I remember when I first got it, how the neighborhood kids reacted. "That ain't nothin'!" "Yes it is!" I rode that bike for what seemed like many long years, until I graduated to a ten-speed. I'd ride up and down the hills of my street, over the neighbors' lawns, hopping over bumps, zooming down driveways, whipping that spider bike up against its envelope. Other times I'd ride across our small town to the drug store, to buy candy, and grip it in a couple of fingers as I steered with the others.

Although I don't bike anymore, I still have a child's eye for terrain. My commute takes me along a surface street that goes on a long, gentle incline. The sidewalk beside it is just the sort of bike path I would have loved as a kid. The downhill run would be great for building up speed, and there would be a couple of good bounces from the rises along the way. I can picture myself negotiating the smart zig-zag at the bottom of the hill, banking across the intersection via the cutaways, then standing on the pedals as I glide to a stop as the sidewalk ends. That was all more than one hundred pounds ago, but I can still imagine it.